Pieces of the End -- Istanbul, Turkey

It's five forty-five in the morning and I hear the call to prayer resonating eerily, ominously throughout the sleepy city. I'm sure most find the sound peaceful and pleasant, but the melancholy tune feels oppressive to me. Perhaps it's not so much the tune itself, but the mere fact that I am required to listen to it five times a day. Unless I strategically plan a podcast or a shower during each call, I will hear the prayer. It echoes in every corner of this mind-bogglingly enormous city and is impossible to escape. I suppose every religion possesses its own uniquely unsettling aspects, though. Gothic churches terrify me. The idea of demonic possession and exorcism filled my childhood with horrific nightmares. Mormon underwear might not be the stuff of nightmares, but I still find it rather perturbing.

I wrote on Thursday morning and hopped buses and trams for city center in the early afternoon. The culmination of this trip, more than any other, feels like the third film of Lord of the Rings. It's not that it won't end (it's scheduled to end at precisely 9:00 on Tuesday the 25th) -- it's that I keep feeling the end coming. Again and again and again. Every moment is a piece of the end.

Last iskender kebap. END OF ISKENDER. So I'd better enjoy it.

Last English lesson with airport guys #2. END OF AIRPORT GUYS #2. So I'd better enjoy them.

Last time walking through Gulhane Park. END OF GULHANE.  So I'd better enjoy it.

I need to learn how to appreciate places and people not because it is my first or last experience of them/with them, but simply because they are worthy of appreciation. I think that this mindset would make ends less of a slow, tedious trudge and more of a natural, flowing passage.

Meandering through Gulhane park (now forsaken by red jacket man), I sat down just past the delicate fountains and snapped photos of what I assumed to be storks (egrets, herons and storks all look very much the same to me). I had used Garage Band to record some guided meditations on loving-kindness and forgiveness the day before, so I switched from listening to a mental illness podcast (wherein the host was discussing his struggles with depression) to listening to my own voice telling me that if I'm able to forgive myself and those around me, my life will be lighter.

Like my backpack. What resentment can I relinquish in order to make room for more uplifting feelings? 
 
They're decent meditations, but I don't think my hypercritical, perfectionist nature does much to help the process.

Oof. You probably shouldn't have made, "may you be free from suffering" sound like a question. And why are you still having problems enunciating properly? Good grief girl, after teaching English for three months, you'd think you'd be able to punch the plosives. 
 

But between looking and listening to the birds, criticizing and listening to my recording and feeling the energy of spring, I began to relax. After a few moments of full, peaceful silence, I stuffed my camera in my sack and continued on to Eminonu --

 

- passed through the Spice Bazaar --

 

Miniature statues of whirling dervishes (Mevelevi Order). They have earned this whimsical name due to their odd habits of, well, whirling. This is a Sufi order founded in Anatolia (East Turkey) by a 13th century poet and theologian with a rather long name I shall shorten to "Rumi". . An important component of Islam is "Dhikr", which is a kind of remembrance or invocation the worshipers perform in order to feel gratitude. Most Muslims fulfill dhikr by simply reciting the numerous names of god and phrases such as "insallah" (god willing) and "la ilaha illa-llah" (there is no god but god). Whirling dervishes choose to supplement boring old recitations by throwing up their arms in wonder and twirling their skirts in joy. This is their remembrance -- their celebration of god. It is their spirit ascending through their mind ascending through their love and reaching out to touch the perfection of god once they have discovered the truth about themselves. Which is accomplished by all that ascension, I believe.

-- and then took the metrobus to Florya to teach my last lesson to airport guys #2. For this final lesson, I decided to just ask them some questions from my interview project.

"Volcan," I turned to one of my more talkative students. "What is a food that makes you think of home?" I scribbled the question on the board.

"My wife's cooks..." he trailed off.

"My wife cooks -- " I encouraged.

"Yes, my wife cooks... kebap!" Volcan finished his short sentence and beamed exultantly.

"Great!" I wrote his sentence on the board. "My wife cooks kebap. Can you ask the same question to Murat?"

"Murat!" Volcan swiveled on his colleague, "What is the food that makes you think of home?"

"Food is... meat."

"Okay, so meat makes you think of home," I corrected as I quickly jotted down the slightly modified sentence. "Can you ask Mete?"

"Nothing!" Mete shouted before Murat could swivel on him. "I am single!" 

Volcan, Mete and Kenan. Thanks for being such fantastic students! I loved your company and working with you was a real pleasure. Keep practicing and good luck!

Murat

We finished the lesson at Mete's apartment, singing and chatting and carrying on in fine style until my phone rang and it was suggested to me by my host that I "probably come home soon". 

"How was the lesson?" Umit asked as I stuffed my boots into the closet by the door.

"The lesson was great," I gushed. "Really, really good. You know, it helps so much to have a board. Boards are amazing. I think that's one reason the activities with this group have gone so well. A board gives me better boundaries and makes me feel more important. Like a real teacher. And after the lesson we can socialize over drinks -- when there's less stress to make sitting around a table at a café a "class" and we can just have a good time."

One more lesson, I switched off the light and crawled into bed. One more English lesson and I'm finished. I can't believe I've been doing this for three months. I can't believe I've been...